Things We've Always Had
by klingy12
Summary: A series of drabbles following Chuck and Blair's relationship from Kindergarten to the present day. Also contains the Non-Judging Breakfast Club and a little bit of NS and NB.
1. Kindergarten

Locks of brown, youthful coils bounced every time her tiny feet descended down a step. Each step gave a click to the shiny, black flats, whose buckles caught the shimmer of the natural morning light. They were perfect. As was her red-bowed headband and pea coat that accented her pristine new blue and green plaid jumper. Her school uniform.

Blair was five—almost 6 six years old and she was going to start her first day of kindergarten at Constance Billard school for girls. Serena van der Woodsen, her best friend in the whole world, would be joining her—thank God—because she was terrified of the boys she would soon meet at St. Jude's. She knew some of their names because of her parents' social events but only ever had play dates with girls. Yes, she was surely moving up—

"Blair! Honey, come on get out of the car," Eleanor nagged. "I swear where has your head been this entire morning? You haven't said a word. Is your headband giving you a headache? I knew it was too much I should have never allowed Dorota to dress you—"

"Eleanor, she's fine. Right Blair Bear?"

"Yes Daddy," Blair shot daggers at her mother who hadn't even want to come with but had relented after a heated argument with Harold over breakfast.

Once on the playground, Blair and Serena sat together on the swings assessing the other girls. A few times Serena thought it best to give up their seats to others who wanted a turn but Blair refused. She had the best seats in the house for observing her classmates and was determined to learn everything she could about the people she would spend the next thirteen years with.

"Want a push?" a strange voice came from behind. Before she could answer a boy was pushing her higher and higher! She shrieked; because she was afraid to ever really swing, she didn't like the jolting and the heights and the loss of control. At last after struggling and writhing frantically she fell to the woodchips on her hands and knees. Rising, furious and having ripped her white tights, she demanded, "and _who _are you?"

"I'm Chuck Bass," was the reply


	2. First Grade

"So today when Nate comes over I want to play house. But first, before we play house, we can put on a wedding so that we're really married. You can be my maid of honor, ok?" Blair was chatting to Serena as they played Barbies in her room. Their Barbies were clothed in only the top brand of Barbie clothes you could possibly purchase and a few were even custom made, one of a kind pieces that Eleanor had had Marc Jacobs create for Blair's birthday.

"Ok. We need to find you a white dress though, Blair, and a veil!"

"Ohmygosh you're right. Hurry hurry the wedding has to be perfect!" The girls left their stunning dolls for Blair's wardrobe, trying to find something suitable and grown up enough to be a wedding gown. Nate was going to be there in twenty minutes.

By the time the elevator dinged at the Waldorf's residence, Blair and Serena were ready for the festivities to begin. Blair waited in front of the foyer table and Serena next to her, with hydrangeas in her hands, freshly plucked from the vase behind her. Nate walked in, and though a slight look of confusion flickered across his face, he had no time to react verbally before Chuck entered on his heels.

Blair fumed at the sight of her nemesis, took a deep breath and lunged forward. "What are you doing here Chuck? I didn't invite you and you're not allowed at the Waldorf house!"

"I invited him," Nate intercepted. "He's my friend and since Serena was here too I thought it would be ok." Blair hardly even noticed Nate as she glowered at Chuck, who seemed rather un-phased. No one was ever un-phased when Blair Waldorf gave a look like that.

"My dad's out of town and I'm staying with my best friend Nathaniel for the week. Sorry, but—were you…planning a wedding?" Chuck scanned his surroundings as he laughed at her in response. Nate blushed and shuffled in between them. Chuck slowly turned his head. "Nathaniel, is Blair your girlfriend?!" he teased and Nate flushed a deep crimson. He lunged at Chuck and chased him around the center table. Serena was delighted at the commotion.

"Nate has a girlfriend, Nate has a girlfriend," Chuck taunted.

"She's NOT my girlfriend!" Nate practically screeched.

Serena clapped and giggled as the boys ran circles around her and the table, but Blair was still by the elevator, her veil still hung over her eyes before she ripped it off and threw it on the floor. Her eyes were big and glistening. It was time to end this.

"My mommy says that you come from new money and you have no class and neither does your stupid dad. So get out! Right. This. Minute. Chuck Bass!"

Chuck stopped and looked up at her, meeting her eyes solemnly for just a second, but as Nate skidded to a stop behind him, he knocked the table and the Swarovski crystal vase of hydrangeas teetered and rocked until it came crashing down and broke all over the foyer.

Blair broke out into hysterics.


	3. Second Grade

Chuck Bass was eight years old and he knew the depths of love and war. He knew because he loved Georgina Sparks, and he knew because he was at war with Blair Waldorf. He knew that he couldn't wait until recess to see Georgina and he knew he would also have to face his nemesis in a brightly colored headband. They were in the same class along with Serena and by eight, popularity had started to become popular, and the three of them were it.

Today was the day. Everything would be decided for better or for worse today; he would either conquer or be conquered by love. Chuck, instead of listening during math, had written a love letter to Georgina and he was going to deliver it to her at recess.

Georgina, Blair and Serena were on the swings, their usual hangout spot, and Nate, having left lunch early, was pushing Blair softly on the swing just as she liked. Chuck hated when Nate did that, so often the blond boy would eat his lunch much too fast in order to juggle both brunettes that he usually had a stomach ache later in the day.

Chuck approached the swings, and before he even had a chance to address Georgina directly, Blair was at him.

"Who told you you could enter the swing area, new money?"

"No one. I do what I like. I don't answer to snobs like you who can't even match their own clothes. You look hideous, have you downgraded to Neiman Marcus?"

"Well I—"

"Shut up Blair, I'm here to talk to Georgina and not you. And it'd help me not get a headache if I didn't have to speak over your whiny voice."

Blair was at a loss and she turned to Nate for help, but the poor boy never had any advice to give. Blair and Chuck were too quick-witted and sharp-tongued for him and he just couldn't keep up.

Chuck approached Georgina and handed her the letter. "I wrote you this in math today. I hope you like it." Georgina smiled and began to open it, when Serena piped up.

"Remember Blair's rules? We share everything, Georgy."

"Right, oops," Georgina handed over the letter to Serena, while Blair ripped it from her grip, all the while Georgina gave Chuck the most innocent and not at all sincere of puppy dog eyes.

"Let's see what we have here," Blair began to read the letter.

"Blair don't do that it's not nice," Nate interjected.

"Natey, I know Chuck is your friend but it's the rules," she purred. Then she began to read, "_Dear G, _--what you don't know how to spell her name?—_I want to tell you that I think your hair is very brown and pretty and that I like you a lot. You are really cool and I would like it if you would be my girlfriend. Please answer yes, no or maybe. Love, Chuck Bass."_

Georgina and Serena were giggling to themselves and Chuck grew red in the face, not of embarrassment, but of anger. He hated Blair Waldorf with everything he had in him, and he knew she hated him back.

"Well Georgina, what will be your answer to Mr. Bass' touching love letter?" Blair asked as she began to rip it to pieces, letting them fall amongst the woodchips.

"Umm…I don't think so Chuck, but thanks. It was really sweet," was her reply.

Chuck wasn't heartbroken; he wasn't even scathed because he had just had an epiphany. And a good one at that.

"That's ok, _G_, I think it would be better anyway to have fifty girlfriends rather than just one, like Nate does." Chuck swaggered over to the swings and glared at Blair. He then turned suddenly and caught Serena with a peck on the cheek. Serena was dumbfounded, but then smiled slightly and giggled. Blair shrieked and Georgina broke into fits of laughter, while Chuck took off and ran for dear life towards the jungle gym. Nate followed in tow.

"What did you do that for?" Nate panted.

"Why not? Serena's pretty isn't she?"

Nate shuffled. "I-I don't know. I guess so."

"I'll kiss every girl in school except Blair Waldorf and her ugly face."

"Hey!" Nate was offended! Blair was pretty! But he also was glad because Chuck shouldn't want to kiss Blair. But he hadn't even kissed Blair. Now he was confused again.

"You can have her, Nathaniel. I don't want cooties!" Chuck taunted and Nate proceeded to chase him around the jungle gym.


	4. Third Grade

_Blair:__ So we all know how this works._

_Chuck:__ No one talks, no one gets into trouble._

_1x12, School Lies_

"This feud has gone too far, I'm afraid." Ms. Atwell sat behind her desk, staring down authoritatively at the two children. They sat rigidly still, looking straight into the fiery, dark depths of her flaring nostrils. "The two of you can't go on hating each other forever."

At this Chuck smirked to himself while Blair pouted expertly. _Shows what she knows_, they both were thinking simultaneously. Adults pretended to be so wise and all knowing, but they just didn't understand and never would.

"Now tell me—", Ms. Atwell interrupted their inner monologue, "What happened this time?" She pulled her glasses off of her face wearily. She was not new to their antics.

"He pulled my hair in line to art class," Blair indignantly spat out. "I don't know why such a scoundrel is allowed to attend St. Jude's." Ms. Atwell ignored her haughty remark.

"Well, Charles. What do you have to say for yourself?"

"She had one of her stupid follower friends put glue in my hair. It wasn't a crime of passion—like mine Ms. Atwell—, it was entirely planned!"

Blair snickered slightly to herself. She had orchestrated her plan perfectly. After he had yanked at her luscious locks she had wanted to give him a taste of his own medicine. After all, she had a feeling Chuck Bass cared about his looks. So she had gathered Georgina, Kati and Iz together to plan the perfect "accident" during art class. It was paper maché week and buckets of glue were readily available. The rest had gone off without a hitch— well, except for the fact that Chuck had threatened to kill her (quietly of course, so that no one could hear his threat) when she had come to "check up" on him in the nurse's office. Blair had called his bluff by smiling sweetly and asking if he needed a cup of water. He hated when she acted like an angel because he knew what she really was and it was certainly _not _an angel.

"Ok. This time both of you get recess taken away for two weeks and you are required to do your homework silently in the library under the supervision of Mr. Hawkins," Ms. Atwell handed out her sentence.

Blair's face fell, but she quickly forced it back up again and tried to play nice. "Thank you Ms. Atwell, I understand and look forward to being able to do my homework during—"

"That's all. Good day children," Ms. Atwell interjected. Blair didn't like being cut off mid sentence. Her lips tightened as she stood to exit the office. Chuck was close behind, following her with a slight skip in his step.

"See you in the library tomorrow, _B_," Chuck whispered.

"Stop calling me that, _Bass," _Blair retorted.

The next day in the library during recess, Blair made sure to arrive early and pick a desk in the back corner where she could read a book of her choice rather than do her homework. It was raining today, and she was perfectly happy to be where she was. Until Chuck showed up. He actually had the audacity to sit next her to. She tried to ignore him but he waited patiently for her acknowledgement, his eyes burning into her.

Finally she sighed, burdened, and asked, "What do you want, Chuck_?"_

"This is all your fault that we're here right now."

"It is not. Maybe if you quit being such a tattletale we wouldn't have to be. But if you'll excuse me, I'm actually enjoying myself," Blair dismissed him and tried to return to her book when—

"Fine."

"Fine what?"

"Let's make a deal," Chuck began. Blair grew curious and turned herself in her chair to face him. "No more telling, no more teachers, no more Ms. Atwell. We keep this thing away from the school, under its radar and there won't be any repercussions anymore. What do you say?"

Blair's inner wheels were turning. "Well…" she paused. She was pensive and weighing every pro and con to Chuck's proposal she could think of. "You are kind of ruining my reputation. And my mother will not be pleased to get another phone call. It could be good for me."

"Perfect," Chuck was pleased.

"It's not like you have any reputation to protect. What's in it for you?" Blair asked.

"Recess? In the library? With you?" Chuck looked disgusted. "I have better ways of spending my time."

"Oh yeah, like what?" Blair was prying.

"Like I'm trying to see if I can get Hazel to meet me under the bleachers for a kiss. She'd be number sixteen."

"Gross."

"Whatever." And Chuck Bass left the library, refusing to finish out his sentence. He had just made his first deal with the devil, and so had she.

Two weeks later they were in the same position in front of Ms. Atwell, brought in by a teacher on lunch duty who had seen them arguing and some sort of involvement of orange jello being thrown or dumped. However this time the conversation was quite different.

"I really don't know what you mean, Ms. Atwell, the jello slipped out of my hand while I was trying to make room for Chuck at the table and some of it accidentally fell onto his pants. This was all just a big misunderstanding," Blair explained saccharinely.

Ms. Atwell turned to Chuck, ready for his rebuttal. "Actually Ms. Atwell," Chuck glanced at Blair. "Blair is totally correct. It must have looked like something else to Mr. Prieser, but that's exactly what happened."

Ms. Atwell blinked, dumbfounded, and the two plotters smiled to themselves.


	5. Fourth Grade

_Blair: Alright, who's ready for a game of Truth or Dare?  
Jenny: Oh, I love Truth or Dare. Once, I had to eat an entire bag of marshmallows.  
Blair: That's nice, Little Humphrey. But, um, that's not how we play.  
1x05, Dare Devil _

Serena was having the first co-ed party in the class of 2013's history. It was New Year's Eve and anyone who knew anything knew that 2001 was actually the start of the new millennium, and she intended to kick off the next thousand years with van der Woodsen flair. There was a disco ball and a black light, a sound system built into the wall that could rotate up to six CD's, spewing the likes of N*Sync, Backstreet Boys, Bewitched, Destiny's Child and even some TLC. There was a refreshment table and snack table complete with servers, and a home theater broadcasting the live countdown to the New Year.

Blair arrived alone. Thirty minutes fashionably late as always, and the party was almost in full swing. She scanned the room—Nate was talking to Chuck and some of the boys, others were dancing, and when she finally spotted Serena, she was at the refreshment table with the other girls. She headed over.

"Wow Serena, this is really the best party anyone has thrown so far," Kati praised.

"You're so fashionable, Serena! You're seriously like a teenager right now," Iz gushed and giggled.

"Too bad I wasn't invited to come over early like I always am," Blair interjected. She gave Serena a once over. "Or else I could have helped you pick out something better for you to wear, Serena!" Serena smiled tightly while Blair turned towards the refreshment server. "Hot apple cider, please."

"Hi, Blair," Serena mumbled.

Chuck was getting bored. It was eleven o'clock and his driver wouldn't be around to pick him up until twelve thirty. Blair had surrounded herself with Georgina, Hazel, and Penelope as some sort of power struggle with Serena. This left Nate confused, so naturally he brought his woes to Chuck.

"So I just don't know what to do because I know it will all be over in a few days but I'm just torn between the two of them and if I talk to Blair, Serena will look hurt but if I even look at Serena, Blair will give me that look, you know? Like she's so disappointed in me. And then of course she'll be even madder at Serena and I just—just why do I have to be in the middle?"

Chuck was scanning the room, seemingly uninterested when he responded coolly to his friend. "I might be able to help you out with that Nathaniel," he said quietly and then raised his voice so that everyone could hear. "Who's up for a game of truth or dare?"

It had been about thirty minutes and everyone was thoroughly enjoying himself or herself with dares such as mixing together soda and whipped cream and drinking it, or truthfully admitting what color underwear he or she was wearing right now. Chuck thought it was about time to raise the stakes. Adam had just asked him how many girls he had kissed on the cheek, and although he was pleased to answer 23, the truth in Truth or Dare was not supposed to elicit the smug smirk that it did from Chuck.

"Ok. My turn. Blair, truth or dare?"

"Dare," she answered, skeptical of his intentions but not wanting to appear weak or cowardly.

"I dare you to pour your drink on Serena," he said all too quickly, like he had been planning this for some time. All of the girls gasped as Blair hesitated. She looked up at Chuck, whose bottomless dark eyes met hers.

"Nice try Chuck, but Blair would never do that to me," Serena said defiantly. The next thing she knew, a splash of cold, spritzy pink lemonade was thrown on her, the carbonated droplets popping and trickling down her chin. Serena gasped at the cold and the room erupted with noise. The hostess stood up and ran out of the room and upstairs and all eyes then landed on Blair.

She should say something. She should definitely say something.

"What? What are you all looking at? It was the rules. What was I supposed to do? You play the game right or don't bother," Blair was assertive, decisive, and gave no one in the circle the choice to think otherwise. Chuck's eyes found hers and she smiled at him. "Right Chuck?"

"Right, Blair," he replied. "Do you have a truth or dare for someone now?"

"Chuck," she said.

"Yes?"

"Truth or Dare?"

"Dare."

"Blair come on, really?" Nate didn't understand what had just happened, but he knew Blair would try and get back at Chuck for making her do that to Serena. Or had she wanted to do that to Serena? He just didn't know.

"Don't worry Natey, it's ok it won't be bad. Just trust me," Blair said sweetly and then turned back to Chuck. "I dare you to go steal a bottle of champagne from the kitchen." But Nate was wrong, that wouldn't hurt Chuck. Chuck would think that was a fun game.

Sure enough, Chuck had such a great time stealing the champagne that he didn't return from the kitchen. It was nearing midnight and the children gave up the game after a few more questions that attempted to be as daring as Blair and Chuck's had been. The ball was going to drop in five minutes and it was the first time most of the kids had stayed up for it.

Blair entered the kitchen to find Chuck rummaging around in the drawers and cabinets. "What are you doing, Chuck?" she asked.

"I'm looking for a cork screw_," _he rumbled. She walked up to a drawer under the island table and pulled out a corkscrew, handing it over to him.

"I've been to enough van der Woodsen events to know where they keep it," Blair explained. Chuck began to screw the spiral point into the top of the cork.

"You really stepped up tonight, _B._ I'm proud," Chuck said, still working on the bottle.

"Don't play games, Chuck, you knew that I'd do it. And stop calling me_B, _it's really getting old."

Ok, _B._ Whatever you—" but a loud popping sound interrupted him, followed by a fizzing sound of rising liquid. The froth was spilling over the bottle onto Chuck's hand and finding its way to the floor. "Hurry get some glasses!" he demanded. Blair flew to a cabinet and found a champagne class, scurrying it over to the bottle quickly so Chuck could pour. When the champagne volcano was under control, Blair held the full glass while Chuck shook off his hand and took a swig from the bottle. "Ok. Take a drink," he urged.

"W-what? You've got to be kidding I'm not drinking that," Blair said.

"Come on. I dare you," Chuck replied. Blair's eyes narrowed, but she brought the glass to her lips anyway and took a big, defiant, swig. Chuck raised his bottle to cheer to her glass and the two made a flat, awkward clinking sound together.

"Now go," Chuck said. "Go in there, watch the big shiny disco ball drop and then take Nate into the other room and give him his first real kiss."

Blair opened her lips to protest.

"On the lips," Chuck emphasized. "You're always supposed to kiss someone on New Year's that way."

Without response, Blair brushed by Chuck to set down her glass on the granite countertop before turning around and heading in to find Nate. The countdown from ten had just begun.


	6. Fifth Grade

Chuck was at the back of the classroom getting his books for science from his cubby when Wesley approached him, shrouded in the shadow cast by the tall wooden structure that hid the storage area from the main part of the classroom.

"I'm supposed to deliver this to you," Wesley said, handing Chuck a folded piece of paper.

"What?" But Wesley had already scampered off back into the light and back to his desk, leaving Chuck to loiter by cubbies. He opened the piece of paper, which read: _Meet in the science lab during recess. –B._ Chuck tore up the paper and discarded it in the trash before heading back to the front of the classroom.

When lunchtime came to an end and everyone was disposing of his or her tray and scampering off to recess, Chuck stealthily headed in the direction of the bathroom, only to overshoot it and turn the corner where the science lab was. He approached the door to find a pen stuck in between it and the frame. He pulled the door open slightly, looking cautiously behind him, entering the room only after he had plucked the pen from the ground and quietly latched the door behind him. He turned around, his eyes adjusting to the hazy darkness of the room, to find Blair sitting atop one of the shiny black desks.

"A little theatrical, don't you think, _B_?" Chuck asked, bemused.

"I only signed it that way so if the note was found it couldn't be traced back to me," she replied.

"What do you want?" Chuck was getting impatient. Blair hopped off the desk and approached him.

"I need to enlist your help in order to take down Adam Davis."

"Serena's boyfriend? Why would I do that?"

"Serena's _Ex-_boyfriend as of yesterday. He dumped her for no good reason as far as I can tell. Naturally she's a mess, getting dumped with for the first time. And it's up to us to make it easier for her."

"Up to you, maybe. Why should I help you?"

"Well, Chuck, you're the only one who has what it takes." Chuck smiled at this. It was true. He's the only one who had ever given Blair a run for her money, but plotting together? Instead of against each other? He wasn't so sure. He liked what they had, and he respected that she could keep up.

"True," he answered.

"Good. I'll take that as a yes. My house tonight at seven. Be there and I'll help you ace that science test coming up," Blair was satisfied and approached the door to leave. "See you later, _C."_

Chuck nodded. "Waldorf."

By the end of the week Adam Davis was successfully ruined. He no longer was picked to be on any amateur soccer team, nor was he allowed to sit at the table occupied by the crème de la crème of the socialite class. He was kept far away from Serena and forever doomed to sit with scholarship kids; all because Chuck and Blair had exploited the fact that his dad's seat on the 'Doctor's Without Border's executive board had resulted in an extra-marital affair and a half-Thai baby sister currently living under the Davis' roof. But that was a scandal for the likes of adults. With particular cunning, Chuck had taken Adam under his wing and introduced him to a girl named Tracy while Blair stood by with a camera and the Photoshop tools to change the date stamp. Like father, like son, and no one likes a cheater.

Blair was ecstatic. Her hair bounced against her shoulders as she sat down at lunch. When Blair was happy that her plan had fallen into place, no one could bring her down. "Hi _S,_ enjoying your freedom from Davis, the adulterer?"

"_S?_ Since when do you call me that," Serena asked.

"Just trying out a new thing, that's all," Blair replied, having slipped up. Penelope, Hazel and the girls made sure to take note, however.

"Blair, how did you really do it? You didn't make any of it up did you?" Nate asked as she took her coveted place next to him.

"No not at all. It was just a bit of investigative journalism to uncover the truth. Everyone has secrets," Blair rationalized. Nate wasn't savvy to her plotting, but for some reason he found it extremely attractive that he had a girlfriend such as Blair Waldorf who was clever and smart enough to pull something like this off.

"And some of them are better off revealed for the benefit of others," Serena chimed in. God, she loved Blair.

"Was this a solo a sting operation, _B, _or does your accomplice get due credit?" It was Chuck. He took a place next to Serena and directly across from Blair. "I'm happy to help air out your dirty laundry anytime," he said off Serena's grimace.

"Oh you'll get your credit, Chuck," replied Blair sweetly. Not even Chuck Bass could ruin her day. Nate looked baffled, didn't these two hate each other? Serena, too, gave Blair a look that read, "_what the eff?" _

"Chuck was kind enough to help me out. After all, who better to turn to when you can't get the job done on your own?" Blair explained. She wouldn't go any further and admit that her venture into investigative journalism had crossed the line into becoming a setup. She knew most people wouldn't understand the necessity of it.

"Precisely," Chuck concluded. "Let's do it again sometime," Chuck said and he meant it. He had had fun.

"Oh, you won't have to worry about that, _C, _I'm sure there will be more lives to ruin now that we'll be heading to middle school next year." She gave him a genuine smile, something he'd never seen directed at him before. Usually her smiles were dripping with sugar, but secretly laced with venom.

Nate noticed this and his face lit up in triumph that he had figured it all out. "I can't believe you two have retracted your claws and are actually on good terms with each other. You might even be friends!"

Serena gave him another look like she had given Blair. "Ugh! Nate!" and she threw some of her edamame at him.

"Hey!" Nate protested whilst dodging the green bullets. Blair laughed and tried to intercept them so they wouldn't hit her boyfriend. "It makes my life easier!"


	7. Sixth Grade

A/N: I just wanted to thank my beta, Lynne who is the best, and everyone who has reviewed or kept up with this story. It makes my day. I hope that I can finish middle school by Christmas. Happy Holidays everyone! May all your wishes be filled with CB love.

* * *

"BLAIR! BLAIR! BLAIR!" Serena screeched over the phone. The receiver could hardly handle such a pitch and it cracked a little on the other end.

"S, what is it? Are you ok?"

"I have juicier juice than even you can get your hands on right now, I'm not kidding it's unbelievable," Serena was trying to contain herself.

"What? Serena it's eleven o'clock on a Sunday night where are you?"

"Well. I…um…I'm at the Archibald's. Mom went to Sri Lanka so I brought Eric over to get a good night's sleep," Serena said hesitantly. She and Eric usually showed up at Blair's with their overnight bags but she liked to rotate so Blair wouldn't know how often her mom really went away.

"You can come here you know--," Blair began, but she was off topic and Serena cut her off.

"No no it's ok, B. I'm good here, and if I hadn't come to Nate's tonight I'd never have the dirt I'm about to tell you. Are you ready?" Blair mentally nodded and Serena understood as she waited a beat. "So I was eavesdropping on Nate and Chuck tonight and guess what Chuck did?"

"What?" Blair was intrigued. What had he done that he hadn't gloated about to her? He loved dropping scandalous information into their conversations to shock her or to try to get under her 'straight laced skin', as he liked to say.

"Chuck _slept _with Georgina! As in had sex with!"

_WHAT?! _"I-I'm sorry. What the _hell_ did you just say?" _WHAT?!_

"That's right B, Chuck screwed G before either of them turned thirteen," Serena made it unnecessarily crystal clear for her.

"Ew. Ew. Ew." Blair was revolted. She felt like she needed to regurgitate something. They hadn't even had the sex-ed unit in school yet and Chuck and Georgina were already horizontally accoustomed to one another. "Ugh, I have to go erase that image from my brain. I'll see you tomorrow, Serena."

"Wait, Blair! Don't tell anyone, I don't want this getting spread all over by that new Gossip Girl website."

Blair was intrigued, but didn't let on. "Of course not S, convene all the girls on the quad tomorrow for lunch, but don't invite Georgy ok? We can discuss it then," Blair hung up and was actually able to fall asleep relatively easily, despite images of sweaty Chuck.

The next day at school all of the girls were perched on a picnic table in the quad for lunch like Blair had asked Serena to arrange, but neither girl had a chance to bring up the incident before Georgina spotted them and headed in their direction as per usual. Before the brunette could sit down, Blair halted her process with a biting retort.

"I don't think so, G."

"Excuse me?" Georgina looked doe-eyed and innocent, a look particularly helped along by her new dark eye-makeup.

"You heard me, we're all full at this table. Maybe that one over there labeled 'skank' has some room for you," Blair snapped.

Serena was taken aback. She grabbed Blair's arm and whispered harshly in her ear, "Blair, what are you doing? We didn't agree to this!" Blair shook off Serena, un-phased.

"What are you talking about? I-I don't understand," Georgina began to twitch and nervously looked around. Guilty.

Blair sighed. "Oh, G. How can I make this clearer for you?" she paused to wrack her brain for ideas. "Oh! I know! If you have _sex_ with Chuck Bass, it means you're out. For good. Now shoo! Go on," Blair waved Georgina away like a fly and turned back to her lunch. None of the girls dared make eye contact; Georgina was as good as a leper now. As she walked away, they all turned to Blair to hear the whole story.

By the end of the day it had begun to rain and Blair refused to walk home, so she had called Dorota to pick her up. She stood in the front courtyard, hiding under her oversized umbrella when all of a sudden she could feel the raindrops exploding on her head and her hair getting soaked. Her umbrella had been snatched away from her by a blurry figure.

"Nice work, B," Chuck's voice rang out, obscured by the torrential down pour.

"Not funny, Bass. Give it back!" Blair yelled and the rain sputtered into her mouth.

"Come on, get in," he replied and threw himself and the umbrella into his waiting limo. Blair was soaked and couldn't afford to weigh her options, so she followed him inside. "I'll give you a ride home," he said.

"Thanks," she said resentfully.

"No, consider it my thank you for taking care of the Georgina situation for me," Chuck said.

"What?" Blair was confused. Take care of? Thankful? She hadn't had any ulterior motives this time around other than disgust and an odd sort of rancid jolt in the pit of her stomach that she couldn't define.

"Now, thanks to you…everyone knows I swiped my V card and Georgina is the one scathed by the whole thing. Plus it gets the crazy bitch off my back. Good call planting the seed in the pea-sized brains of your minions so that one of them would be sure to tip off the Gossip Girl website – anonymously, of course."

"Well I have to say, Chuck, I didn't exactly have your benefit in mind," Blair admitted.

"Yes but you came to my aid anyway."

"You're disgusting," Blair spat. She looked at Chuck's matted wet hair and the droplets of rain clinging to his nose and all she could see was sweaty Chuck. Gross, repulsive, sweaty Chuck.

"Thank you," he replied.

"Now please don't tell me this is going to be your new method of operation, because I don't really want to have to reject every friend of mine once you sleep with them. This is me," Blair said hastily as the limo slowed to a stop and she began to exit.

"You won't have to alienate all of them, you know. Only the ones that need to be disposed of after use," Chuck replied and grinned.

"Ew," she snapped and paused slightly to mentally block his statement. "I couldn't stand to look at them once you've touched them," Blair scoffed as she was about to shut the door.

"But you can still stand to look at me!" Chuck yelled out to her before she slammed the door.


	8. Seventh Grade

A/N: Hey everyone. So it's 7th grade and the year of 13. Our kids are growing up and I figured it was about time to push the friendship boundaries a little bit. I tried my my hardest to keep it realistic and to not romanticize it too much, but after all this is a CB fic and we all want them in love. So let me know how it turned out, I'm really anxious to hear your thoughts! Also thanks always to Lynne, especially for having a dirty mind that can come up with Chuck-isms better than I can.

* * *

"What are you doing all the way back here, Waldorf?" Chuck murmured and slithered into the pew next to her. Blair sighed but kept her eyes peeled on the balding scalp directly in front of her. They were teenagers now, practically grown up, and she wanted to keep her etiquette in tact.

"I arrived late. Shh," Blair whispered harshly. Chuck relaxed and slouched down in his seat, resting his Valentino dress shoes on the edge of the shelf in front of him that held the Holy Book.

"You never get to these things late," he replied.

Blair was annoyed now. She was trying to listen. "I couldn't find a Chanel clutch to go with my shoes and-and my hair was all wrong and Dorota replaced the wrong perfume in my vintage pump."

"You're lying. I know you're lying." She was wearing Dior's new spring scent, the one she recently switched to from her musky Burberry winter signature. Chuck knew these things.

Blair didn't respond, but turned to face him for the first time. She gave him a typical Waldorf look of distain, but her eyes didn't light up with fire like they usually did, and the corners of her lips didn't curl up slightly, but instead fell flat.

Chuck was sitting close to her, his arm slung over the back of the polished wooden back of their pew and his right hand hung down slightly, nearly grazing her shoulder. "You don't belong in this back corner, Blair." Chuck squeezed her shoulder slightly, his arm blanketing her neck as he gave a quick jerk with his head, motioning her in the right direction. "Come on." He retracted his arm from her and stood up to leave. Blair looked nervously around before she stood up to follow Chuck silently out of the room.

"I hate Bar Mitvahs anyway," she finally said aloud once the heavy oak doors had separated her and Chuck from the service. "Where to?"

The Empire State building defines Manhattan like the Liberty Bell defines Philadelphia, and yet so few Mannhatanites have ever set foot behind its glass doors. It was a tourist spot, one for people with floppy, searsucker hats and binoculars hanging from their necks. The observation floor was reserved for romanticism and the skyline, which bestowed a panoramic view of the city on those who didn't belong. Blair and Chuck arrived on top of the building, and made their way to the unenclosed perimeter. Chuck opened the door and the warm spring wind shoved itself fiercely into his face, but he persisted.

"This is really something, Chuck," Blair said, once outside. She headed to the edge of the railing and looked through the protective iron rods over the city below.

"This is more like it," Chuck said, settling himself beside her. Blair sighed and closed her eyes, feeling the breeze on her face. Chuck observed her. "Tell me what's going on, Blair."

"It's Serena," she finally conceded. "She's made for these damn Jewish celebrations. The spotlight, the party, the attention. I can't take any more of them, it gives me a migraine."

"She does have a certain allure doesn't she?"

"Thank, Bass. Helpful," Blair replied sarcastically.

"I have better things to stroke than your ego. I'm not here to sugar coat things for you or suck up to you like all of your other friends do. I'm not afraid of you, Waldorf, so you can thank me for telling you the truth. That's all you'll ever get."

"Ok, fine," Blair whispered and looked down.

"You think Serena's this wild, fun girl who outshines you in everything. For the record? She acts that way because it's the only way she has to break free from you. And is that really so bad? Flinging her golden hair and bright smile in everyone's face. So she's bubblier than you and she uses that to her advantage. There are worse things," Chuck explained heatedly, with a touch of annoyance emanating from his voice at Blair's self-doubt.

"Oh yeah? Like what?" Blair was feeling better and decided to challenge him, which was always fun. Chuck was inwardly ecstatic at her change in mood.

"Well, if Serena really wanted to rebel against you, all she would have to do is come to me and I'd happily relieve her of her duties to you by offering up my services," Chuck drawled provocatively.

Blair scoffed. "Please. Serena would never stoop so low as to bed a Bass." Blair turned back to face the horizon. "But you have a point, I suppose."

"Thank you," Chuck was pleased at her backhanded compliment, but a curious smirk soon flickered across his lips as he leered at her. "I wonder…" he began and paused dramatically, waiting for her ears to perk up at his seductive tone of voice. "If no one in your circle is ever allowed to hook the Bass, then what does that mean for the Queen herself? Laws _are_ typically meant for commoners…"

"Shut up, Chuck," Blair said and her phone began to ring. She opened her clutch and took her phone out. "It's Nate, hold on," she told Chuck and answered. "Hey sweetie, how did your soccer game go? Good! That's so great! It was as good as Hebrew can be. Oh, no actually I didn't go to the luncheon." She glanced up at Chuck briefly, who was waiting by her diligently. "No, no…I—was just feeling a little sick and wanted to make sure I have energy for the party tonight. Yes, Serena will be there. No let's not pick her up on the way. Fine, if you insist. Ok, ok. Well then can we pick Chuck up on the way too? Yes, why not? It'll be fun, your best friend and my best friend. That way S won't feel like a third wheel—you know how I worry about that sometimes. We'll have a great time, even if David Schiller's color theme _is_ orange."

Chuck stopped listening to Blair's conversation. Their last Bar Mitvah ever was sure to be one for the ages—he would make sure of that anyway. Not excluded from his list of tasks was the assurance that Blair Waldorf would have a great time, so that her lie to Nate wouldn't have to be one after all.


	9. Eighth Grade

A/N: Thanks to my beta, Lynne. This is my longest chapter so far and I hope you all like it. Please read and review! It motivates me to write the next one and they're getting harder as they get older. Our Chuck and Blair are growing up!

* * *

"We have to get him to stop doing this," Nate whispered.

"Why? What good would it do?" Blair whispered back harshly.

"You're really going to sit back and just let this happen?"

"Yes. And so should you."

"Why, Blair?"

"Because when Chuck sets his mind to something you can't change it."

"Even when that something is my father's thirty year old single malt scotch whiskey?"

The couple was seated on the Archibald's royal blue velvet recliner in the Captain's study. He and Anne were out for their usual Thursday night dinner. And when the Archibald's were away, Chuck Bass would play.

"My, my, the Captain does have good taste, Nathaniel," Chuck exclaimed as he finished transferring the contents of the bottle into his two flasks and returned them to the warmth of his jacket. The flasks were for the road. He poured himself a glass, turned around to face the recliner where his friends were sitting and nearly spit out his beloved amber liquor at the sight of them. He began to chuckle. "You two look like you've been trapped in a loveless marriage for seven years. Seriously. Live a little." And with that Chuck raised his glass to them in a mock salute before taking another swig.

"Oh God, now he's drunk," Blair rolled her eyes in annoyance. Nate sighed, exasperated, and stood up while Blair leaned back on the recliner, opting to do nothing.

"Come on Chuck, don't you think it's about time to call it a night?" Nate asked, concern evident in his tone.

"No," Chuck responded coolly, not keen on Nate's condescending tone. Why were sober people so self-righteous?

"Seriously how fun is it to drink alone? I mean Blair enjoys her champagne on a Saturday night and I'll drink with you on the weekends if I don't have a game the next day, but on a Thursday night? When we're supposed to be studying for our Algebra test?"

Blair sighed happily from her seat. "I do like my Dom Perrignon to usher in my weekends."

"Not really the point, Blair," Nate snapped.

"A single malt isn't for the purpose of simply getting drunk, Nathaniel," Chuck interjected. "It's meant to be savored. Also, I need to build up my tolerance level. Soon enough I hope to be virtually unfazed by its effects."

"Great, I'm glad you're training to be an alcoholic, Chuck," Blair said sarcastically. "See sweetie? He's exactly like you without the soccer ball attached to his foot."

Nate was fed up with both Blair's indifferent attitude and Chuck's increasing inebriation. "Ok, Chuck I think it's time we sent you home for dinner. Give me your phone I'll call your driver."

Chuck handed over his phone and sneered at Nate. "Itssalright Nate. I know when you and the lady want to be alone in the house."

"How perceptive," Blair responded saccharinely.

Chuck had never slurred his words before. He made his way to the door for a dramatic, sweeping exit, but his shoelaces were untied and he kept stepping on them and stumbling ever so slightly. Once at the door he wrapped his hand firmly around the knob and pulled. And shook. And pulled. But it would not budge. He was making a racket that could potentially attract the housekeeper so Blair finally stood up and approached the door, placing her hand atop Chuck's. She pushed forward, releasing the door from its latch and sending Chuck tumbling forward into the foyer, struggling to keep his balance.

Nate hung up the phone with a loud snap. "Actually, Blair. I think it'd be a good idea if you went home too."

Blair looked at her boyfriend incredulously. "I'm sorry. What?"

"You can call a cab, or you can go with Chuck and his driver can drop you off on the way to the Palace."

"Fine." Blair stormed out into the foyer and passed Chuck, who gave her his best smirk. Before he made a move to follow her, he hung onto the doorframe and poked his head inside the study.

"Hey. Next weekend make sure you're free. That senior Carter Baizen wants to hang out. It'll be worth our while," Chuck said to Nate and made a smoking motion with his hand. Nate nodded and smiled his approval. After all, he wasn't all that judgmental of Chuck's ways, he just hated having to play the mad scientist by trying to even out whatever liquid Chuck had pilfered with whatever else was already open under the bar so that the Captain would remain none the wiser.

Chuck found himself outside, and the hot, sticky air wasn't doing anything to help him sober up. He looked around for his limo, and finally spotted it in front of him. He'd forgotten there were a few steps leading down to the sidewalk and clumsily tried to find his footing before Blair had suddenly appeared, yanking on his arm and pulling him down the rest.

"Ow!" Chuck yelled.

"Oh save it, Bass. Get in." Her nails were biting into his arm through the thick material of both his jacket and his shirt. Before he knew it, He'd been thrown into the back of his limo, and the door shut quickly after the petite brunette slid in. "You're taking me home," she said.

Chuck had noticed that time wasn't moving at the right speed. He couldn't remember transitioning from the study to the foyer to the steps to the limo. He remembered each place and what had happened, but he couldn't link the incidents together. And now his head was spinning from all of the thinking and he pulled out his flask and took a swig. His free hand kneaded his temple as he contemplated his shoes. Why were his laces undone? That was simply unacceptable.

"Why don't you call me Bass in front of Nate?" he mumbled after a few minutes of silence.

"Why don't you acknowledge me in front of Nate?" She parried.

"Because I'm _his _friend and not yours," Chuck answered callously as he shoved the flask in Blair's face. "Here," he said.

"Ew!" She swatted the unwanted thing away from her face, liquid erupting from its spout as her hand made contact with the cool metal. It spurted all over Chuck's pants and the limo floorboards. He took another sip.

"Great. Now you're going to reek of liquor even more than you already do," Blair chided.

"Like you care."

"I didn't think it was possible for you to be even more insufferable than you normally are, but clearly I was wrong... I hope you build up that tolerance quickly, Bass."

"I love it when you call me that, B," he drawled. Apparently his seductive charm wasn't entirely lost while his head was spinning and his movements reacted a second later than his brain told them to.

"Do you, Bass?" Blair asked flirtatiously. She couldn't help it sometimes. She had grown tired over time of constantly swatting him away and feigning disgust at every nasty thing he'd said. It was down right exhausting. So she had decided to play his game and ever so subtly respond to his verbal advances from time to time. He liked when she changed it up, it made her unpredictable and he couldn't wait to see how she'd respond from day to day. He was definitely never bored if Blair Waldorf was around.

"I do, Waldorf," Chuck nodded his approval. His eyes were hooded and his hair was a mess. Blair noticed his tie was crooked and his shoelaces were undone. She smiled at his disheveled appearance; he was an utter disaster and she didn't think she had ever seen him this way.

Chuck leaned sideways to rest his head on Blair's shoulder, finding peace from the spinning at last. He closed his eyes and relaxed his body so that he slumped against her and let out a breathy sigh.

"Gross, Chuck. We have to do something about your breath. Your father is going to smell you the second you sit down at the dinner table," Blair said after his breathy sigh reached her nostrils and the smell of stale alcohol suddenly pervaded everything around her.

"Fuck," was all Chuck could muster. He didn't have the mental capacity to come up with a solution. "Do you have any gum?"

Blair opened her purse. "Let me see…I…I don't—no I don't."

Chuck groaned. He was a dead man. And Blair Waldorf was going to be the last to see him alive. "I can't believe Blair Waldorf is going to be the last person to see me alive," he grumbled aloud.

"What? Ugh, pull yourself together. Here, here! This will have to do." She pushed him into an upright position and probed his lips open with something glass and shaped somewhat like a bottle. She poured a warm liquid into his mouth and held his chin so that his jaw stayed closed. "Now. Don't swallow. Chuck do you hear me?! Don't. Swallow. Rinse."

Blair shoved him towards the window and reached across his lap in order to push the automatic window control down. "Now spit." She was glad his mouth was full right now or else she knew he'd have some clever remark about spitting and not swallowing.

Chuck cursed inwardly that he'd missed the opportunity to point out the familiarity with which Blair used the felatio related terms. He looked down at her spread across his lap holding the window button down and coaxing him to spit his drink out—wait. His drink. What was it? It tasted disgusting. Like rubbing alcohol and flowers with a hint of ocean breeze. Chuck's eyes widened and he spit the shit out the window hurriedly. He spit several times, trying to get all of the taste out of his mouth. Blair moved her finger to the other end of the button and closed the window. She sat up.

"Blair?"

"Hmm?"

"Did you just feed me…perfume?"

"Eau de Toilette. Coco Mademoiselle."

Chuck glared at her menacingly.

"Hey. At least this way you can simply say you had a girl in the limo," Blair helped him out.

"Technically I did," Chuck retorted snidely.

"Well then. Your father can be impressed by your conquests and not your blood alcohol level."

"You owe me for this, Waldorf."

"No. You owe me," Blair countered. The limo slowed as it pulled up to the Palace. "Here. Let me fix your tie."

"What about my shoelaces?" Chuck asked.

"Don't push your luck. Take your shoes off when you walk in. Your dad goes to Bangkok a lot, he'll like the nod to the custom there."

"Come on, all you have to do is bend over a little bit."

"Goodbye, Chuck!" and she pushed him out of the limo and sent him on his way to his four course dinner with Bart.


	10. Ninth Grade

_A/N -- Hey everyone. Sorry this has taken me a terribly long time to update. I could not think of this for the life of me, and then 2x14 happened and there was no way I could write light and fluffy after that. So I expended my writing energy by doing a one-shot, "Drive". Check that out if you'd like, it's kind of like my baby and needs some love. But Blair's comment in 2x14 about how Chuck always left and came back with his tie perfectly knotted gave me some inspiration. Let me know how this turned out please! I'm really curious because I played around with a more sexual, dark tone. But there's still good old school CB banter. Also thanks to my lovely and dedicated Lynne, and also to Dawn for lending a hand. Enjoy!_

* * *

Blair was in her living room, lounging on the couch and working on her physics homework. It was a particularly frigid day in late February, and Dorota had made her some organic imported Rooibos tea in an attempt to help her concentrate. The mug was steaming next her in a picturesque way that was supposed to make winter seem more bearable, but she was strumming her pen on her notebook and lacked the usual satisfying focus she acquired when doing her schoolwork.

After several minutes she threw her pen down, a soft thud erupting from the surface of the paper. She reached for her phone and opened it furiously. She dialed.

"_Blaho večer, milenec_!"

"What the hell is that, Chuck?" she asked, annoyed.

"It's Czech."

"Prague this time, is it?"

"Praha is actually the preferred pronunciation."

"Coming home anytime soon?" she digressed.

"Miss me, Waldorf?" Chuck drawled on the other line.

"Not particularly, no….Hold on, someone's at the elevator." She muffled her phone with her hand. "Dorota! Are we expecting some—"

The elevator chimed and the door slithered in between walls, revealing none other than Chuck Bass, phone to ear.

"I think you did miss me. Just a hunch. You did call in the middle of the night," he said into the phone before snapping it shut in his hand.

"It's eight o'clock!" Blair was ejected from her chair, the shock at seeing him in the flesh rocketing her to her feet.

"Not in Praha," Chuck reprimanded with a wave of his finger.

"What are you doing here?"

He had taken off President's Day Weekend—no big deal, Kati and Iz jetted to London for the four day holiday every year—but when Chuck had failed to return on Tuesday after the next week of school had resumed, and the next weekend had subsequently rolled around, something was not right.

"Oh, so you didn't want me to return?" he asked playfully, while deliberately depriving her of the explanation she wanted.

"No I mean _here! _Have you even stopped home yet?"

Blair shook her head; she had called him expecting him to be on another continent where tomorrow had already begun. But here he was, standing in her living room not two feet in front of her, like an apparition.

"I'm staying at Nathaniel's tonight. Bart gave me specific instructions to return to the apartment on Monday. Something about Maxim models." Chuck smirked but his eyes were shadowed with an honesty that she had never seen. His pupils were slightly dilated, a glint of resentment pooling in their dark depths.

She cleared her throat slightly, humbled. She was uncomfortable. And all of a sudden she realized she had already changed for bed and her navy blue silk negligee was less clothing than even Nate had seen her in.

Chuck had noticed this when she had looked down self-consciously to examine herself and he took the opportunity to move closer to her. The lace trim of the garment scooped delicately across her chest, just high enough to hide any sign of a shadowed curve to her breast. The lace on the other end flapped against her, falling well above her knees at mid thigh.

Blair looked up and his eyes were closer to her, still with the same cloudy kind of emotion that wasn't supposed to exist in him. She had never directly met his eyes with her own and it could prove to be her undoing. A person never really met pupil with pupil so deliberately unless he meant to; it's like two people who are fully clothed are stripped of everything and left naked, with nothing.

Her eyes fluttered down and she reached out slowly to the lapels of his jacket and tucked her tiny hands underneath them.

"Ugh, don't tell me you've been wearing the same thing for ten hours. Your jacket is a mess. Look at these creases!" She was using her Nate voice. It was strange. He hated the syrupy tone, yet at the same time loved the oddly sweet insincerity behind it.

She began to run her hands briskly over his jacket, smoothing out the small imperfections. If his tie weren't perfectly knotted, she would have had a better excuse in straightening it; he knew she didn't like sloppy ties. Fortunately, the simple solution of dry cleaning didn't exist at the moment because she needed it not to exist; she needed to bring up something other than Bart Bass and the issues he stirred in his son. She did not want to tread there. Anything but honesty and sharing.

"I might have been serviced by a particularly eager flight attendant," he whispered, and leaned his face down entirely too close to hers.

Her hands stopped smoothing.

"Katarina," he breathed in her ear. Warm and humid.

Her hands roughly fisted at his lapels, twisting the material harshly and yanking him even closer to her frame.

"Why are you here, Bass?" she gritted angrily from her clenched jaw.

He grimaced at her uncomfortable hold on him. "I have a gift for you, Waldorf," he spat out in indignation. She let him go and he stepped back from her, his breath no longer reaching out to her skin. "Here," he said and reached into his inner jacket pocket to pull out a flask shaped bottle with an iridescent green liquid sloshing around inside.

"Absinthe?" Blair gawked. "Are you kidding me?"

"It's the good stuff. Western European product is shit," he defended and advanced on her again. She was so fucking aggravating. She met his gaze defiantly, challenging him, daring him to stand up to her judgmental reaction to his present.

But then again, he knew she would.

"You put some sugar in this baby and light it on fire and the liquoricely anise just glides right down and on through you until you see sparks. It's warm too…" How could he possibly make a hallucinatory, illegal, alcoholic substance sound sexy? Blair was furious. Was he even talking about the liquor anymore?

"Okay, time for you go," she hissed and grabbed his worn lapel again, dragging him back to the elevator from which he'd emerged. She was certainly giving the flaps a workout tonight.

"And here I thought you could give me that tutoring session you were assigned from Mr. Balboa. I know how badly you want to clock in those community service hours Blair. Come on, dress the hot teacher part—tight pencil skirt, slightly see through blouse, glasses and a neat French twist—I just might listen and be a good boy."

Blair shoved Chuck roughly and unceremoniously into the elevator.

"You're sordid."

"Maybe I'll re-gift to Serena, at least she'll know how to have a good time!" He yelled as the door closed between them.

She seethed. He always had to have the last word. He always knew exactly what to exploit to make her squirm and stew in her insecurities.

Blair stormed upstairs, neglecting her homework and the cozy winter atmosphere while Chuck exited the Waldorf residence, satisfied.

He was glad to be back.


	11. Tenth Grade, Part One

_A/N -- This is my longest one! I honestly could not stop writing. I had to cut myself off. Anyway, here's part one of tenth grade, which means yes, there will be a tenth grade part two. Please read and review it really encourages me to keep going, especially if I'm going to continue on into the timeline of the series. As always, thanks to my beta, Lynne! You are wonderful! _

* * *

"B we're going to have so much fun!" Serena clapped and giggled after she and Blair had finally made it inside Tunnel. The club's music was perfect; mixing dance pop rock with rhythm rap and Serena was ready to go.

"If you say so." Blair was apprehensive; she had been to house parties before, but never this. When Serena had concocted the idea that they were old enough and hot enough to get into nightclubs, Blair had insisted that they shell out the necessary three hundred dollars for fake ID's anyway.

They hadn't needed them at the entrance.

"Come on, B. What are we drinking?" Serena paused and ran a finger along her glossed lips for a moment. "I know! Cosmos. Cosmos have to be our drink of the night. I'll go get us the first round."

"First and only for me thanks!" Blair yelled after her exasperatedly. Serena didn't turn around.

Blair loitered by the entrance for several minutes, waiting for Nate to arrive and for Serena to return back from the bar. Left completely alone for what seemed like enough time that if she held her breath she would most certainly turn blue and die. She felt awkward on the inside and was consciously trying to come up with a stance that exuded confidence and entitlement.

"And the wife's here. Guess your fun is dead for the night, Nathaniel," a familiar voice stood out behind her. Blair turned around to face Chuck and Nate headed towards her. Chuck neglected to acknowledge Blair, brushing rudely past her on his way to the bar, only to throw his head back to ask "Drinking Nate?"

"Vodka and tonic. Belvedere," Nate answered and devoted his attention to Blair. "Hi sweetie," he greeted and kissed her sweetly.

"Hi," she smiled into his lips.

"Where's Serena?"

"She's getting me a drink. You going to dance with me tonight?"

"Hmmm, you mean the foxtrot we learned at cotillion practice this month? Are you sure this is the right place?"

Blair batted her eyelashes and swatted at Nate's arm playfully. "I mean it!"

Serena's golden hair bobbed amongst the dark crowd before them and she appeared triumphantly juggling the reddish-pink drinks in her hands. "Here here here, take it B!" She shoved the martini glass in her friend's hand. "Hey Nate. Ok ready, B? Let's toast!"

The glasses clinked, and the two sipped. Blair liked the sweet taste of the liquid.

"Ok, now let's shove our way to the bar. Chuck is lining up tequila shots for us!" Serena lead their way into the masses.

Blair thought she'd stick to her current drink.

Fifteen tequila shots for three and a single finished Cosmo later, Serena had found a young, hot professional looking man to dance with and Nate was sent to try to pay off the manager to reserve a leather booth for the group.

"Another little pink drink, B?" Chuck had approached Blair, leaning against the bar.

She rolled her eyes. So now he was talking to her. "I'm good, thanks," she replied icily. She played with the plastic umbrella left in her empty glass.

"Let me guess. You don't like losing control? Afraid you'll do something…" Chuck reached slowly across her and picked the umbrella from her fingers. "Bad?" He waved the umbrella up to the bartender, signaling that another drink was needed.

"I drink enough, Chuck. I just don't like being sloppy and stupid like—"

"Like Serena?" he interrupted, partially due to the fact that the woman in question was making her way back to them.

"B!" Serena squealed and threw her arms around her. Blair glared at Chuck, who smirked as her drink was placed in front of her. "Oh, another! B I knew you had it in you. Come on, I want to have fun with you. I hate only partying with Georgy."

Blair's eyes widened, her body tensed, unnoticed by Serena, before it relaxed again and Blair let out a defeated breath. "Ok," she said simply, picked up the glass by its stem and downed it all in one gulp. The glass stung on the countertop.

"You do know what's in those things don't you?" Chuck asked her. She didn't.

"Get me another," she ordered.

Four Cosmopolitans later, the bass from the music vibrated and thumped in her chest, helping her to fall in place with the tempo. Her fingers felt further away from her body and her inhibitions were lost somewhere in the crowd. Dancing with drunk Serena was much more fun than judging drunk Serena, and her friend was no longer a bubbly nuisance, but the most fun person in the world and an excellent dance partner.

After some time Serena leaned in to Blair's ear and yelled. "Listen, I'll be right back!"

"What? where are you going?"

"Don't even worry about it, B. Here here, Nate's over there. Come on you can dance all sexy with him." Serena grasped Blair's hand and handed her off to Nate by the bar. She patted him on the back. "Dance with her, dammit and be a good boy," then she turned to Blair. "Come on, right here," she said in a cute, girly voice, tapping her slightly pursed lips with her finger. Blair obliged and pecked Serena on the lips and giggled. "Be right back, B."

Blair hated what was called grinding, or gyrating, or whatever dry humping, mating call was typically qualified as contemporary dancing for the untrained. She found it dirty and demeaning, so when she followed Nate to the center of the club she faced him, pressed their bodies together and danced. It was slightly more tasteful than some of the dancing she had seen Serena do, but she moved with him and locked her arms under his armpits, grasping at his shoulders and letting the thumping in her core take over. She was drunk. Very drunk. She pressed for more, trying to grind her hips into his, but Nate pulled back every time she pushed forward.

"Blair, come on. You hate this," Nate chided her.

"No," she drawled into his ear and grabbed his lobe between her teeth lightly. "I like this." Nate knew his girlfriend and this was certainly not her. He'd never seen her noticeably drunk and he'd never seen her so open with her desire. He was uncomfortable and slightly confused. Luckily, his vibrating phone prevented him from thoroughly furrowing his brow and he delved his hand into his pocket to fish for the thing.

"Nate, just leave it," Blair purred and stopped his hand in his pocket, resting her own over the material, strumming her thumb dangerously close to the bulge in his pants. He gulped and pulled his hand swiftly out of his pocket, bringing his phone along with him. He flipped it open to check his inbox.

"Uh, Blair I have to go. Serena. Don't worry, nothing we haven't dealt with before." And he was gone among the sweaty, indistinguishable clump of bodies. Blair pouted, feeling alone, until a waiter with a tray full of drinks brushed by her and she claimed a mystery concoction for her own.

Soon enough she was sipping her new drink, barely recognizing the taste, and an arm had slung itself around her waist and pulled her against the body that matched it. The arm held onto her tightly. She didn't recognize it, but caved to the thump again and she began to dance, meeting the rhythm of the mystery body behind her. Her drink sloshed back and forth and spilled over the sides of the glass, smacking the floor at her feet. She hardly noticed the sticky liquid clinging to her ankles.

"Excuse me. I was promised a dance," a low, raspy voice drawled, almost too low to be audible above the music.

"Hey!" she protested, but the arm let go of her stomach and she stumbled on her heels. Large, firm hands grabbed her hips and jerked her up against a taut, hard body. She looked up. "Chuck!" she squealed and tried to break free from his hold.

"You really shouldn't be dancing like that with strangers. What would Nate say?"

"Let me go!" His hands tightened and his fingers dug into her hips.

"I'm just keeping you safe until he returns for you. Can't have you taken advantage of."

Blair relaxed and pouted. She brought her drink to her lips and downed the rest of it.

"Waldorf do you even know what that was?" She shook her head and found a stray tray passing by to discard her empty glass. She reached for another unknown drink. "You should slow down," Chuck warned.

"You're lecturing me now? Oh, ok, ok. You know what Bass? I don't think you're drunk enough for my liking!" Her eyes sparkled as she realized she hit a nerve. Chuck's features hardened and his fingers were probably leaving bruises at her sides. She feigned innocence. "Oh, I would give you my drink, but then you'd have to let go of my hips with one of your hands and Nate would reprimand you for not protecting me properly."

"Well I guess that leaves only one option," Chuck replied calmly.

"And what's that?"

"You'll just have to feed me your drink." Victory. Blair slung her left arm over Chuck's shoulder and leaned her side against him, while her right hand held the prized drink.

"Here. Now please be properly drunk after this," she conceded and held the glass to his lips. They were deliciously full, probably from making out with about seven girls right before this, and his razor sharp jaw line became more pronounced when he parted them slightly. He took a sip. "Hurry." Blair's left hand grabbed his hair and pulled his head back so that she could pour the liquid as quickly down his throat as he could gulp.

"Fuck, Blair," Chuck growled.

"At least it wasn't perfume this time. Is it working? It better be because I sure as hell can't keep up with your alcoholism."

It was working. He felt warmer. His fingers on her hips seared and he was afraid he was burning her. He looked down at her. She was a firecracker when drunk. She wasn't sweet, she definitely wasn't stupid, she was more fierce, slightly sloppy, but a spitfire nonetheless.

"Dance with me," he rasped.

"No, ew!" She said but her body began to sway as his followed.

"Have to keep you occupied until Nate comes back to claim you. Unless you'd rather sit."

She shook her head violently. "No. I don't want to sit. I want to dance. Just not with you."

"You don't have a choice, Blair."

"Are you drunk?"

"Very."

"How much?"

"Five shots of tequila, three whiskey tumblers, a gin and tonic and whatever you just gave me."

"Chuck Bass…" she began and paused. Blair's hands found his collar, unaccompanied by a tie tonight and slightly open. She held his shirt tightly and her forehead rested against his chest, just under his chin as they began to dance. "Dance with me. Really dance," she commanded.

"But I'm the one who—" Chuck began to protest when she began to move against him deliberately and provocatively.

Movements that only about two inches of free space from the next sweaty person would allow. Chuck spun her around so that her back was against him and he pressed his pelvis against the tight material stretched across her backside. One strong arm wrapped around her stomach and held her against him as their respective bottom halves ground against the other's in time to the thumping of the bass in their chests. Her eyes were closed and her arm found its way to his hair and her other lay atop his own, strewn across her stomach.

His lips were dangerously close to her neck. Her slightly perspiring, but still enticingly aromatic neck, bare in front of him. He pressed his face into the crook of her neck but neglected to caress, kiss, nibble, graze. He just pressed.

"Chuck," she said softly, gulping in order to find her voice.

"Hmm?" he asked, disinterested in her speaking at the moment.

"Take me to the bathroom?" she asked meekly.

"Women's or men's?" he asked seductively, purposefully misinterpreting her request.

"Women's."

"You're right. Cleaner. More your style," he whispered.

"I think I might die," she said.

Chuck stopped his movements against her. "Come on," he said and held her in front of him, hands still on hips as he guided her wobbly and unbalanced frame to the bathroom. "I'm not holding your hair back."

"Good," she responded spitefully, lacking the coherency to come up with a biting retort.

"Watch your step, Waldorf," Chuck growled when Blair caught the top of a step with the toe of her shoe and failed to properly plant the heel. She fell backwards against him and he propelled her upright.

"Don't be bossy." Blair was becoming belligerent and tried to pull away from him.

"Blair, you can't even stand."

"Can too." And when she wriggled again he let go of her and she slammed into the door of the ladies' restroom with a dull thud and an unintelligible expletive.

"Want to argue with me some more?" Chuck asked smugly as he held onto her once again and led her through the open door. She pouted and resigned. "That's what I thought."

"Chuck?" Nate's voice called out unsteadily from an open stall. "Are you bringing a girl in here because I don't really think that's such a good—"

"It's Blair," Chuck told him distractedly.

"What?" Nate turned around to witness his best friend steadily holding up his girlfriend and leading her to the stall next to his.

Chuck peeked past Nate. "I see our girls did well tonight," he quipped at the sight of Serena sprawled out in front of the toilet with her head dipped over into the bowl. Nate was dutifully holding her hair back.

"I found her making out with an investment banker. She was very proud of his profession."

"Figures. Didn't she do that last week at PJ Clarkes?" Blair mumbled from her assigned cubicle.

"Don't you have some vomiting to do?" Chuck asked her as he leaned against the dividing material of the stalls and languidly pulled out a cigarette from his jacket pocket.

"Hey man, I can't take care of both of them. Can you help me out? Please," Nate pleaded with Chuck and directed his eyes over to the direction of Blair.

Chuck rolled his eyes but relented. He peered down at her figure. Her simple and very little Gucci dress was hugging her upper thighs and one of her straps had fallen off of her shoulder. Her hair splayed all around her and a fallen curl stuck to her cheek from the slight sheen of her earlier exertions. Chuck settled down behind her, propping her upright by placing his knees on either side of her thighs. His hand delicately swept her hair back and his fingers involuntarily grazed the nape of her neck.

"I thought you weren't going to hold my hair back," she stated quietly.

"Promised Nate," he whispered back.

"Oh." She reached her hand behind her and placed it atop of Chuck's. It rested there for a moment before she yanked her tresses away from his feather light grip and simultaneously wretched into the toilet.

"It's not like I don't know how to do it," she said as she stifled a sob.

"What the hell does that mean?" Chuck asked but she wretched again. He rolled his eyes and grimaced. "Nate!" he called.

"Yeah?" replied the voice on the other side.

"We're going out _alone _next weekend," Chuck barked.

Nate laughed. "I owe you one."

"Don't worry about it."


	12. Tenth Grade, Part Two

_A/N -- Hey everyone! So here is 10th Grade, Part Two. Thanks to Lynne for the beta, and I apologize ahead of time for not revising it to the best of my ability but I really want to take a nap! Anyway, I hope you enjoy and as always I love reviews and constructive criticism. After this the show starts, so please leave any suggestions regarding how you would like to see me execute the next phase. _

* * *

Blair's world was falling apart. She had admitted it to the piece of paper meant to represent Serena before stuffing it in its pre-addressed envelope, licking the seal, and shoving it under her mattress to suffocate.

She had no one. No best friend, no father, and no boyfriend. Maybe she had a boyfriend in the flesh but lately his mind was somewhere else completely, now when she needed him now more than ever. He had become her everything and it was only late at night, before sleep, when she would acknowledge the imperfections of their relationship.

He awoke to a knocking inside his head. It took him three rounds of the incessant thudding to realize it was actually against the oak door of his suite. Chuck opened the door slightly, wearing his silk navy boxers and open shirt, and peered sleepily at the figure before him.

He rubbed his eyes. "Blair?"

"Hi Chuck," she said simply.

He waited for her to continue but she said nothing. A thick silence hung in the air between them and he felt as if he were suffocating.

"Can I help you?" He finally asked, annoyed.

"I need to talk to you," she conceded, as if she were intent on disallowing any explanation from her mouth other than what she was forced to give up.

"I don't talk."

Blair blinked back the moisture of desperation and sucked in a harsh breath. "Yeah. Yeah, ok," she said bravely and visibly held her head up. She was going to make a strong exit, a royal exit from her momentary lapse in judgment. She should have chosen the ten-milligram valium and sleep. Instead she chose the five-milligram and a trip to the Palace, suite 1812.

"Wait," Chuck's voice stopped her retreat. He glanced back into his room, to whatever was behind the fortress of his door. "Meet me at the bar in five minutes."

She nodded and he shut the door.

Fifteen minutes later Blair had finished her dirty gin martini and sent back the stale one waiting in front of the empty seat beside her to be replaced fresh.

"I don't normally have drinks with women in the middle of the night if they aren't planning on accompanying me to my suite after," Chuck's voice appeared before his body slid into the seat next to hers and picked up his waiting drink.

"Seemed to me yours was already occupied."

"I can make room for one more," he countered suggestively, suckling an olive of its liquor before plopping it back in his drink.

Blair gave him a tight, un-amused smile. "Charming."

"I thought so." He paused while she sipped her drink. "Let me guess," he began again. "Miles Hamilton." She didn't respond. "Alicia Neidermeyer." She speared an olive. "Kendall Clothier?"

"Try Nathanial Archibald," she said.

"You want to destroy Nate?" Chuck asked incredulously.

"No. I just want to…I mean I need to ask you about him." She stammered because she knew what his reaction would be. She wasn't expecting this to be easy.

Chuck fumed and leaned in close to her. His words were laced with venom. "I'm not one of your girlfriends, Blair. We don't do pillow talk and I don't talk with you about Nate. Ever."

"Why is he acting weird?" She glared right back at him, suddenly pulled from her solemnity and motivated by his attack.

"How would I know if he is or isn't?"

"Don't play games with me Chuck. I know you know. Tell me," she ground out against her teeth, trying to keep her voice down amongst the surrounding people.

"I don't know anything. And if I did I'd keep my mouth shut and you wouldn't know the difference." Chuck downed the last of his drink and shoved his seat back, making his way out of the bar. Blair followed in tow.

"He won't do anything with me," she croaked out meekly and he turned around to glower at her. She gulped. "He'll kiss me, but he won't do anything else. He doesn't get jealous. He went away to visit his cousins the weekend after Serena left and he can't hold a phone conversation longer than two minutes."

Chuck sighed. He couldn't tell her. It wasn't his place, and if anything he owed more to Nate than he did her. She had no right to come to him, pitiful and weak and in need of a friend. The pleading in her eyes disgusted him. He had never seen her like this before, so bare and vulnerable.

"You're pathetic," he spat and made his way toward the elevator. She scurried after him.

"My father left me did you know that?" she yelled and barged her way into the elevator.

"Yes I knew that," he said as he hit the eighteenth button furiously, refusing to meet her eyes.

"For a male model!"

"I know."

"I know you know. Everyone knows," she cried out in frustration.

"I'm still not going to give you what you want."

"Fair enough," she finally forfeited and deflated. The elevator door opened and she stayed back.

He stood over the threshold. "You coming?"

"I thought we were done here."

"Not quite."

"Aren't you indisposed at the moment?" she asked with a hint of disgust in her voice.

"I got rid of her," he said simply and began to walk away. She hesitated but followed him once again.

He swiped his key. "Now…" he began and flipped on the lights. "I've heard that Miles Hamilton has been making homophobic remarks about your father during water polo practice."

"Your point?"

"And Alicia Neidermeyer claims he offered to pay for sex during a business lunch with her father last year."

"And?"

"And Kendall Clothier's familial ties to the fashion industry have given her considerable insight into the fact that Harold's new boy toy is only out to find himself a rich Dick."

"I don't need a rehash, I can check Gossip Girl for that," Blair was annoyed and getting impatient.

Chuck approached her where she still stood by the door to his suite and he began to circle her slowly, his eyes on her. His hands were suddenly on her shoulders and he was tugging at the material of her coat. A gulp of air hitched in her throat and she tried to hide the quickening, shallow breaths of her nervousness. "Three in one night. It'll be quite a challenge. But I think we can do it." She let her coat fall limply into Chuck's hands. He hung it up.

"What are you suggesting?"

"Destruction. Humiliation. Ruined reputations and perhaps some scandalous new ones," he smirked as her eyes lit up at the notion of ruining the lives of three people that night. "What do you say?"

"I'll say I'm in." Blair smiled and made herself comfortable on the plush couch.

"What do we have to begin with?"

"Miles must be gay. And if he isn't that won't matter by the time we're done with him."

"No more showering with the team after practice."

"No more practice," Blair amended. "You have anything?"

"Alicia gave me a hand job in Latin after I paid some freshman to steal the midterm translations from Mrs. Erickson's desk to share with her."

"Trading sexual favors for favors of academic dishonesty. How sweet," Blair drawled sarcastically.

"Is it just me or is it looking like our victims are getting an exact dose of their own medicine?" Chuck sat down on the couch next to her.

"Surely Kendall has to have a lowly money grubbing relative of some sort. Aunt, maybe a cousin."

"Has anyone ever told you how hot you are when you're plotting the obliteration of Upper East Side character?"

And they hadn't. She was rarely referred to as hot and had hardly ever been approached by anyone since she had always been with Nate. She wasn't used to it and just for a second, as Chuck's hand idly touched her knee, she felt wanted.

But then she remembered he was Chuck Bass.

"You're like a dog, Chuck. Jesus don't you have any discretion?" She grabbed his hand and threw it back towards him.

"I don't like ugly," he replied and she grimaced.

"I'm flattered," she deadpanned.

"I aim to please," he smirked, ignoring her insincere tone and the expression of aggravation on her face.

"Am I going to have to fend you off all night or can we get to work?"

"I'll be good, Waldorf. Once I satiate my appetite," and he stood up.

"Gross!"

Chuck picked up the phone and waited for the direct line to the concierge to ring. "We'll have two double dirty gin martinis, a bottle of Dom and a couple of grilled cheeses with truffle oil. Yeah. And no, don't send the twins this time, Pam. Thank you."

Chuck hung up and turned to Blair, who looked pleased at his selection.

"Ready?" he asked.

"We have a long night ahead of us," she grinned and opened up his laptop.


	13. Eleventh Grade, Part One

_A/N: Hi everyone. I am so so sorry that this took as long as it did to update. I kind of had to regroup and see how I was going to take this story into the show's timeline. But there's finally some romance for you now! I hope you enjoy and please take the time to review and tell me what you think. And as always, a special thanks to Lynne. _

* * *

Two weeks.

Fourteen days and not one of them was spent without the other. The minutes proved it, but somehow the duration of each second—of every millisecond, seemed more languid, more drawn out. It felt like a lifetime.

Thanksgiving had been spent with a rare but upstanding Johnnie Walker, a good friend. A friend who could make Chuck Bass forget about his frustratingly painful infatuation with the only woman he could never touch was a good friend to have. He purged himself of coherent thought and action while she purged the remnants of her stomach.

The next day, when at last thankfulness could be disregarded for another year at least, she'd arrived at his suite. Knocking loudly and persistently as early as dawn.

"What is it, Waldorf?"

"Serena knows," she had said plainly.

It was over.

He started at the sound of the door slamming behind her as she crossed the threshold inside and threw herself at him with an ardent kiss. Blinding, in fact, as his eyes could only see searing white as she bruised his lips and pressed her entire frame against him.

"Blair," he rasped, willing himself to pull away from her and lose the sensation of her melting completely and utterly into him.

She ignored his plea and caught his bottom lip between hers, tugging at it with her teeth. He couldn't resist then, with the glint of the cool morning sun reflecting off of her hair and the slight red that sparkled and disappeared as she moved above him, suddenly horizontal on his mussed sheets. He couldn't resist then because it may very well have been the last time he would have her.

Every time for two weeks may have been the very last time he would have her. So he'd had her every day. He couldn't get enough of her, and luckily she seemed insatiable too.

So he had grown confident.

"Meet me on the roof," her phone buzzed and she read the words. A gulp forced itself down her throat.

It wasn't enough that she had spent the entire afternoon in his suite, but his eyes had been on her all night. Like a fox, he watched her every move and she readily ignored him, flashing smiles and sipping on champagne.

"No," she typed and snapped her phone shut.

She scanned the room and he was no longer watching her and maybe she missed it. Suddenly she was stifled by the swarms of mechanical ants feeling their way all around her. Like bugs, like worker bees that could only follow. Sometimes she hated being the only one who could lead. But the queen bee reigns solitary without an equal king.

It's just how it is.

Outside, the Manhattan air was crisp, but not biting. It cooled his hands around his glass tumbler, but the wind—for being twenty-five stories up—was relatively calm. He loved rooftops. The remoteness, the intimacy with the skyline and all of the lights. The city was his. To watch over, to covet, to hold.

Even if just for an instant.

The thick metal door hitched.

"Chuck," her voice was low and ominous.

"Waldorf," he nodded. Coolly.

He brought his tumbler to his lips. She grabbed it and gulped.

"You're an idiot."

"So?"

He leaned forward, smelling the scotch on her breath.

"It's sexy when you have a man's drink on your breath, Blair," he drawled.

"Shut up."

His shoulder blades hit the bricks behind him and he grimaced.

"You shouldn't have done that," she said.

"You shouldn't have come."

There was the heat of sex dripping from their very words.

"Don't ever pull something like that again," she ordered.

"Then don't ever wear this dress again," he parried.

He brought her fingers to the belt of his trousers.

"Keep it in your pants, Bass."

"Make me."

Zip.

She had always been a hypocrite.

On the one day Chuck thought he was going to lose her for good, it had been fourteen hours since he'd seen her. Fourteen blurred hours and now her door was locked.

"Open the door, Blair." His words dripped with frustration.

"Leave now or I'll call Dorota!"

"Please," he scoffed.

He could hear the numbers being punched on the other side of the door. She was standing right there and two inches of thick oak felt like the fucking Atlantic Ocean.

Her phone snapped shut.

"Go away Chuck!"

"Why?"

"You know why."

"Enlighten me."

She sighed. The phone again. He rolled his eyes.

His vibrated.

It was a text. Forwarded: _Can't. With N. Later. –C _

"Well, it's later," she mocked. "Come for your gratuitous fuck?"

He hit the door with his open palm.

She flinched.

"Open the door Blair." His voice was low. His brow against the Atlantic Ocean.

She didn't even bother to respond.

"Ok. Fine. I'll play your little game." He rammed his thumb down on speed dial, number one.

She could hear the ringing. Like bees buzzing in unison somewhere in the distance.

"Nathaniel." Chuck smirked. "How about that bar out in Soho later tonight? What was it called again? Right. I'm just at Blair's—"

The door swung open brutally.

His phone dropped to his side. The line went blank.

Her face was drained of color; even her lips were almost nude. Wide eyes, those very wide eyes, were frightened and lost. She looked like she had just seen a ghost, and the tremor of her chin rendered her almost juvenile in her vulnerability.

She held his gaze.

He beheld her with fascination at this new person he was seeing. His brow furrowed and his lips parted as he tried to assess her. He tried to speak but he'd never really been on good terms with earnestness.

His mouth was on hers before she could get her bearings. Large masculine hands held her face in place as his lips crushed down over hers. She parted her lips and she could have sworn he literally stole her breath away from her and claimed it for his own.

If all love equated to was disappointment and disenchantment, she would rather take this. Whatever this was. At least she felt wanted, desired, needed. If, for only a moment, being in love with Nate Archibald meant apathy, then she would rather take…


	14. Eleventh Grade, Part Two

_A/N: I seem to be apologizing every chapter now for my delay in updating. But again, I am so sorry. Real life has been a pain and school is suddenly giving me stuff to do. Go figure. Anyway, this story is still going and will keep going. Please know I appreciate new and old readers to review and drop me any kind of comment you wish, whether it be short or long, kind or not. With almost 100 of you on Story Alert, the reviews have been rather rather few lately. I'd love you all for some added encouragement! Also, p.s. Thanks to Lynne as always. _

* * *

Blair Waldorf was finished with men. Boys, to be exact. If she happened to find a man, a real man, she might not object to that.

But to hell with boys.

"To hell with boys," she said, raising her wine glass to toast.

"Woo!" Serena cheered on as she met Blair's extended glass.

Butter was becoming all the rage across town and Blair had secured their reservation before many of the girls had had the chance to wear the place out. She had hardly seen Serena lately, now that she lived with the Basses, and she needed a friend. After seeing Nate with Vanessa, and after the strange feeling sabotaging Nelly Yuki left in her stomach, she was unsure of her current war with Little J. She needed to be an adult tonight; she needed to rise above it all with Serena.

She and Serena were on their second bottle of Bordeaux Cabernet Franc and the conversation had drifted delightfully from Blair's condemnation of the Humphrey clan, to a warning against Dan's friend Sarah, and the absurdity of Nate possibility dating Vanessa. Blair had decided altogether to eliminate any sign of Brooklyn on the Upper East Side, as she likened its presence to a pest invasion that needed to be exterminated. Serena took her flippant comments, laughed at her more outrageous ones, and even offered a clever comment or two herself.

"It's just a pity, seeing him wasting himself on that. He could be put to so much better use," Blair mused.

"It's not like he's interested in any of the girls from Constance. And B, would you even let any of them get close enough to try?"

"You could have him," Blair said nonchalantly as she speared an haricot vert and slyly turned up the corners of her lips.

Serena almost spit out her Franc as she lurched forward, dabbing the corners of her own lips with her napkin. "Blair, is that supposed to be a joke?"

"I'm serious, S. I mean, P would kill to have her way with him, the lecherous hag. But you have my blessing."

"I have a boyfriend, Blair!"

"Oh like that's relevant," she answered sarcastically and daintily took another sip.

"Yeah, it kind of is—," Serena began but her phone's ring interrupted her. "Hold on."

Blair gazed into the translucent orb of her glass and inhaled the aroma of the liquid. It was giving her a warm feeling, unlike the heat of hard liquor that was like a honeyed trail through her body. It made her feel smarter, her tongue was still sharp and her head was light and airy.

She waited for Serena to be done with her conversation, her friend's voice muffled and far away to her ears. "Yeah, it's been almost two weeks and nothing. No it is weird. Nothing has come up anywhere? Ok, yeah. I'm not worried about it anymore."

And then Blair heard something that brought Serena's voice gratingly to her eardrums.

"Ugh, _Chuck_, this is why I hate you."

It was like the horn of a train bellowing through her, or maybe more like the screech of dry chalk on a board.

Serena snapped the phone shut and scowled slightly, not noticing the harsh clank of the knife that had been dropped across the table.

"Sorry, B."

Picking up her knife, Blair skewered through her roasted chicken furiously.

"It's ok. I suppose soon to be stepsiblings are obligated to build a relationship with one another. Just make sure all of your passwords on your computer aren't saved by default, your social security card hidden and the bathroom door locked at all times."

She took a large swig this time and fought with the wide rimmed glass for the last bit of wine at the bottom, the edge digging into her forehead.

"Oh, God," Serena muttered and ordered their third bottle.

"Your problem, not mine," Blair said.

Blair took the remainder of the bottle home with her.

Two Weeks Earlier

"_Oh, God," she groaned when she turned a corner and almost ran clear into the last man on earth she wanted to see. She thought if she were stuck alone on an island with him, she'd bash his head in with a coconut. _

"_Your problem, not mine," he said and threw up his hands in mock surrender, stifling a smirk when her eyes narrowed. _

"_Please. I see the way you leer at me in the courtyard, Bass," she spat. _

"_And I see the way your throat tightens when you notice."_

"_It's just the hives settling in when you're within a hundred feet of me."_

_She began to brush past him._

"_The bathroom is the other way."_

_Dammit. Why did he always know that she had to pee when she was drinking? She ground her teeth as she turned around to make her way down the adjacent hallway. Admitting defeat to Chuck Bass, no matter the circumstances, was the one thing she hated more than anything. Even more than Vanessa Abrams. Even more than hating that she knew Vanessa Abrams' name. _

_While twisting the brass knob, the door jut open more forcefully than she had intended as Chuck appeared behind her, coaxing her into the space hurriedly. She heard the click of the latch behind her and she was trapped. Trapped in a four by six marble coated powder room with Chuck Bass. _

"_What do you think you're doing? Get out," she demanded, jutting her chin up slightly so as to assert her authority. _

"_I'm bored. I thought you could entertain me," he drawled. It was true, even if SAT prep parties came exclusively with a bartender specializing in every Disaronno mixed drink in existence, they were downright boring. _

_Blair caught an all too familiar glint in Chuck's eye as she remembered the last conversation they had had. He didn't want her. She was used up, tainted and he didn't want her. _

"_You disgust me."_

"_Thank you," he said smarmily._

"_I'm not your tramp, Bass." His back left the support of the door and he stepped towards her. "Back off."_

_He was close enough now that his body grazed hers and the edge of the sink dug into her lower back as he pressed himself closer. Her hands gripped the marble edges and her knuckles turned white, willing her body to resist molding into his. _

"_I should," he agreed and his hand explored the lines of her jaw and his fingers wrapped around a curl of her hair. "But I'm far less bored now, seeing you squirm against me."_

_She gulped._

"_You said you didn't want me," she said softly and waited but he remained silent, unfazed and fixated on the curl framing her face. _

_She looked up at him under the soft sweep of her eyelashes and smiled. _

"_But, you see, Chuck. I'm the one that doesn't want you." His hand stilled. "All that time, during our entire meaningless charade, I wanted Nate. I always wanted Nate."_

_Chuck's eyes felt like daggers that were stabbing her with rage. But he kept his composure—they were the only part of him that couldn't lie. _

"_Is that so?" he asked, low and guttural, his lips hovering above hers as he grabbed her arms. _

_It was all a game. A charade. Still and always._

_He knew it when her eyes fluttered shut and her back arched slightly so that he could kiss her. She needed kissing badly, and by someone who knew how. She needed to be kissed by him. _

"_Open your eyes, Blair. I'm not going to kiss you."_

_Because then she would win._

Opening his eyes, his vision took its time adjusting to the light of the room.

"What do you want, Waldorf?" Chuck feigned annoyance and exasperation into the speaker of his phone.

Blair had made it home, to the dark, empty atmosphere of her apartment and had poured herself a thik glass from the bottle she had escorted back with her. In the kitchen, alone and sipping on her Franc, she felt sophisticated and adult. But with it came all of the loneliness and inner restlessness of her fifty thousand dollar kitchen with no one to share it with.

"As someone who often drinks alone, I was wondering how wine compares with scotch on the pathetic level."

Chuck sat up from his couch, muted the television and was officially intrigued.

"Depends what the wine is."

"Bordeaux Cabernet Franc."

"What year?"

She turned the bottle to squint at the print. "Umm…1990."

"Well, it's tough, Waldorf, you do have impeccable taste—"

"Apparently not in men," she interrupted.

"Did you call to insult me? Because that old tune is tired, especially after what happened two weeks ago."

Blair scoffed. And huffed. And just…just…could not find a retort. Why couldn't she think of something? She always thought of something.

"Blair…are you…are you drunk?" Chuck asked, piecing the puzzle together.

"What!?" She was shocked. "Of course not! I do not get drunk. Ever."

"How many bottles of our dear Franc have you had?" A smile crept into the corners of his mouth as he realized Blair was drunk dialing him.

"It's…my third," she answered in a haughty tone, becoming defensive but for some reason unable to lie. "But," she searched for words. "I shared the first two with Serena!"

Chuck knew what that much wine would do to her. She was much more inebriated then she let on. The little actress was good.

"Are you alone?"

"Ew!" she crinkled her nose and he could almost see it. "Chuck I am not having phone sex with you!"

"Do you need me to come over?" he asked in his typical voice laced with innuendo, but he wasn't sure if he meant to look after her or to take advantage of her in ways he desperately wanted to.

"Get a grip," she said but her tone had betrayed her and instead of mean and emasculating, she had reverted to her Upper East Side meets Valley Girl voice.

"A grip?" he raised and eyebrow and she could definitely see it.

"God, what is wrong with me?!" Her palm connected with her forehead and she squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to be sober and composed, but instead she dropped her purse.

The clinking of its contents against the floor interrupted her foray into the air of a sophisticate. Out of the quiet, empty kitchen ambience erupted a slew of curses and an ungraceful exit from her wobbling stool to the tiles of the floor in order to pick up the pieces.

"You're drunk," Chuck offered smugly.

"Shut up."

"I do love it when you get mean."

"Chuck," she paused to blow her disheveled hair out of her face and slumped against the panels of the island. "I hate you."

"Well, now I definitely won't kiss you."

He was playing with her and loving it while she, for once, was confused and pouting, unable to meet him blow for blow.

"Who said I wanted to be kissed?"

"The Grenier's bathroom sink."

"Don't play these games with me, Chuck. I'm too drunk for this," she was exasperated.

"Oh, so you finally admit it. I am proud."

"Just. Just…be Chuck. Be that Chuck. Why can't you—"

"Can't I what?" he asked earnestly.

Her eyes were drooping and she was trying to articulate herself. She vaguely recalled a fleeting thought that this was precisely why she hated being drunk. No articulation.

"—Be my friend, Chuck. Like before. Like before all of this," her voice trailed off.

There was a pause on the other end of the line but Blair hardly noticed.

"We're not friends, Blair. We'll never be friends." His voice was solemn; different from his previous tone.

"Were we ever friends?"

"I don't know."

She yawned.

"Goodnight, Blair."

"Goodnight, Chuck."

She wouldn't remember the end of the conversation the next morning when Dorota made her coffee and called the masseuse to work on her strained back.

She had slept on the kitchen floor, immaculate and cold, while Chuck had made sure to match his scotch to her wine.


	15. Eleventh Grade, Part Three

_A/N: Thanks for everyone who keeps reading. Reviews, as always, put a smile on my face and brighten up my day. I'll try and be better as replying to them. Thanks to Lynne for the lovely beta work. She is a doll. Also, this story WILL continue into 12th grade and season two. I will have to wait for the end of the season in order to finish the last installment or two, but keep an eye out for updates through the end. And hopefully CB will be together by the end so that I can write them together. How awesome closure would that be? Ok, continue with the update! Go! _

* * *

Why was it that her life seemed to be measured in small increments of time? A day here, a week there, a dozen days somewhere. Blair wasn't entirely sure of the last time she had been truly, inexplicably happy. It's a hard thing to turn to someone and confide in them that when you wake up in the morning, there is nothing you would change, nothing you would rather have or aspire to.

Bliss. Pure, unadulterated _bliss._

She felt that now, but told herself it couldn't be entirely true since she was unable to admit it to the body sleeping next to her. His chest rose and fell in sync with her heartbeat it seemed, and she realized she had never seen him sleep before. He looked like a beautiful angel, so simple and innocent from the fire underneath, and she loved that about him.

She wondered why she hadn't been more heartbroken over Nate's refusal to speak to her. She had lumped him in with the plethora of problems that had flown her way, and she had gone to _him_. Only to find rejection. The greatest rejection she had ever known. And yet, his were the words that bit into her most, that scared her the most, because she had feared the sincerity of them.

And here he was, the muscles in his back flexing slightly as his lungs contracted every few seconds.

So much for going slow.

And then she remembered the events of last night. How his thumb had caressed her cheek as she kissed him in the limo. How he had not let her kisses deepen and how his lips mimicked the softness of butterflies as they fluttered over her skin. How their dress shoes had stumbled over each other on the way to his suite, not with urgency, but like a sweet, slow dance.

_Let's take it slow._

And when he entered her and whispered for her to open her eyes, she found him looking right into her. Slow, languorous movements rustled the sheets over them slightly. The deep, hitched breathing permeated the room.

His hands lightly traced the contours of her body underneath him, from her thighs to her hips to the flatness of her stomach and the curve of her breasts. But he would not dislodge his eyes from hers. Dark pools of brown met equally dark pools of brown as he hovered merely inches over her, refusing to lose her gaze. All she could do was travel her hands up the contour of his arms, thumb the crook of his neck, and bury her fingers into his hair. She wanted to pull him down for a kiss but she was afraid to break from his spell.

She had never been more terrified than she'd been at that moment.

_Do it right this time. _

Chuck began to stir and Blair retracted her hand from exploring his perfectly formed jaw. He groaned, in that way that is only ever attractive for a man to do when waking up, and dared to open his eyes to the light. And he saw her.

"Morning," he mumbled.

"Good morning," she said back.

"You're still here," he said as if he had expected her to be long gone; a passing visitor in the night that he could not hold onto when the light of day shone through his curtains. And now she was real instead of an apparition.

"Yeah," she said quietly, unsurely and looked away.

"Good," he said and reached for her, pulling her under the sheets with him and covering her lips with his.

"Chuck," she breathed into him, and the morning after had never felt so right before.

"Come to Tuscany with me," he breathed back, in between dusting her shoulders with kisses.

Her eyes snapped open. "What?"

"You heard me," he smiled into her skin.

"I'm going to France."

"Make a stop over with me first," he parried, matter-of-factly in his smug way that lit a fire in her. That or it could have been caused by the sudden dart of his tongue into her navel.

"Were you planning on going to Tuscany before last night?" she asked inquisitively.

"Why do you care? Just come."

"Why?"

Chuck groaned in frustration and fell back onto the mattress.

"Fine," he said. "Don't fly the Bass private jet, don't spend a week or two with me at Bart's villa in Tuscany, don't let me visit you at your Chateau with Roman and Harold, tour Nice and Bordeaux and Paris, and by all means, don't even think of spending Bastille Day with me."

Had Chuck just rendered Blair speechless? She opened her mouth to say something and nothing came out. Her hand wrapped around her throat and she looked away from his form in order to compose herself. Flashes of a summer with Chuck raced through her head and she was baffled that she could actually picture it all. All of it. With him. With Chuck Bass.

"Good!" she suddenly exclaimed. "I won't. Because I'd much rather go to Normandy than Nice anyway and why bother just visiting? What are you even going to do in betw—"

She was cut off when she felt strong arms pulling her on top of him, her legs settling on either side of his thighs as he brought his face to hers fiercely. And they were both suddenly aware of the fact that they were very, very naked. His breath hitched as she pressed against him, her bare nipples hardened, pebbling against his equally bare chest.

"Chuck," she mewed into his mouth.

If she lifted herself up just a few inches she would be able to lower back down onto him and all would be set right. She began to push herself up, gripping onto his shoulders and grazing them slightly with her nails.

"Blair," he rasped. He grasped her hips, but instead of helping her up, he held her firmly against him. She wriggled and tried to break free from his grasp so that she could just sink herself down onto him and…. "Stop," he said. "We're supposed to take it slow, remember?"

"Come on, don't be ridiculous," she chided playfully and rolled her hips.

He cleared his throat uncomfortably and plopped her next to him on the bed.

"We're going to get brunch," he told her.

Tousled curls, a wrinkled dress shirt, a bubble pink dress and a tuxedo jacket made their way to the lobby of the Palace and out to brunch. The sun was bright and caused their eyes to squint, like disheveled newborns emerging into a brave new world they weren't nearly ready for. Within the hour, Gossip Girl posted pictures of the two in their wedding attire from the night before getting in the cab, arriving at brunch sticking out like sore thumbs, and sharing kisses above the spritzy mimosas in front of them. They each ignored calls from their best friends, fought over the fact that Blair would not let him wear fresh clothes when she had none herself, and peppered insults amongst the romanticized talk of Europe.

By the time they had parted ways to change and look like their immaculate selves once more, and headed out to go shopping, Chuck and Blair had both turned their phones off, choosing disconnection from the masses. Reality could not be bothered to surface today. They were fragile and new and infantile and could not risk reality. Not today.

This was much better.

"Chuck, come here," she demanded on the other side of the door.

"Why?"

"Zip." She unlatched the door so he could enter. He obliged silently. "What do you think?"

Turning around, she revealed the ornately textured red satin, the thick black strap and the hug of the seams along her hips. Chuck smirked; he had faultless taste. He saw her sipping wine on a warm, sticky night, at a rustic restaurant on the hills. He saw her against the skyline, against the sheets as he peeled the luscious material off of her to reveal even more luscious material underneath. He saw how every time she wore it, it would be a reminder that it was his, his choice, his creation, his painting, his image of her. And she was beautiful.

"Yes."

"Yes?" Blair's hands found her hips and she looked even better. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"You know what it means. Perfect. Beautiful. Sexy. On you, on the floor, it's impeccable and will look good on both."

Blair smiled coyly. "You mean..." Her hand reached behind her. "Like this?" she asked innocently as her dress dropped around her ankles.

"Blair," Chuck rasped, almost warningly. His eyes raked over her perfect lingerie set.

"It looks good there too, you were right," she said and approached him. Her index finger poked him in the chest and trailed down to his belt buckle. She began to undo it. "Just because you're playing the part of the perfect gentleman, Bass, doesn't mean I have to be a lady," she whispered into his ear and darted her tongue out to touch the shell faintly.

It was her turn to help with a zipper.

"I just feel bad about the condition I left you in this morning. I'd like to make it up to you," she said with a practiced pout and dropped to her knees.

Fifteen minutes later Blair exited the dressing room, dress in hand and man in tow. The sale associate stared tactlessly at them as they passed by. Blair gave the woman a punishing once over, "He's my stylist," she threw out with a saccharine tone.

Chuck lifted his brow and smirked, amused. "Stylist?"

That night, he ordered room service to be served by candlelight, returned Blair's favor on the grounds that third base was basically a regression for them anyway, and discovered the magic word that was Yale. The sun began to rise and they rode in the new day from the old. Today they would have to face Gossip Girl, Nate, Serena, canceling commercial flight reservations and reality altogether. Blair wondered if anything ever lasted, decided it didn't and thought what a shame that was. A day here, a week there, a dozen days somewhere. Small increments of time defined the only happiness she had known thus far in life and she wondered if it might extend now, if there might be a month here, a year there, a lifetime somewhere. At least it was comforting that in six days, there was certainty in the fact that she would be on her way to Tuscany.


End file.
